


Like riding a bicycle

by Illidria



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, LLF Comment Project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illidria/pseuds/Illidria
Summary: Sometimes an attack calls for measures unwanted, yet needed. For their General to plait her hair tightly to her head, to don the white armour that struck fear into their enemies hearts and shield her eyes with snow-blindness googles. To show them how it's done.





	Like riding a bicycle

**Author's Note:**

> This one is yours Santa :D  
> I hope you like it ;)

Some days were worse than others.

Drachma had attacked, during a storm building not too far from them. They'd brought canons, heavy weaponry, enough things to seriously damage the Wall with, even if the storm caught up to them. She had to make a decision, had to make it quickly too, and not long after she and two ground-teams were outside, clad in white, the wind already picking up.

Was glad for the face-guard of the armour, the snow-blindness googles protecting her eyes. Could feel the ice scratch at the few centimetres of exposed skin already. She'd gotten her best sneaks and assassins, they'd move in between the Drachmans, down them swift and silently. Barely saw the snipers branching to the sides, their emergency-suppressing-fire, the storm picking up with every second.

Her enemy wasn't plentiful, probably only those that did not put up a fight when send out in this weather. Them all being greenhorns being another viable option, no idea that they'd probably die on their way back to base in this weather, their mission successful or not. Buccaneer and Miles had protested her decision, deeming it too dangerous, but she could not risk damage to the hull of the Fort in such conditions, a damage to their heating system fully capable of having all her soldiers freeze to death.

Creeping up on their enemy, she heard the familiar sound of Drachman being spoken, not an ugly language at all, whatever her peers liked to say, but with rough edges and a kind of blunt honesty, like the country it hailed from. Unsheathed a dagger, silent hand-signs given to those behind her, all of them branching out. After mentally counting to twenty, their enemy not yet having fired one of their canons, she willed her legs up the small snow bank.

Her mind emptying instantly, the years of extensive training still having her in their grip whenever she did something like this, one foot set in front of the other silently. Always marvelled at how she could stand between so many people, not even noticed.

Raised her hand to the cannoneers mouth slowly, before pressing down, her dagger finding a new sheath.

Waited until the man stopped struggling, almost softly letting him sink to the snow below, her hand still clamped over his mouth, dagger still in the wound. Only pulled away when she was sure, the red staining the ground so few, freezing over instantly.

Got up again, slowly, saw that half of their enemy was down already, though some of her men had been noticed.

Moved to round their enemy while her men captured their attention, moving between them, slowly, silently and unseen. Her dagger hit its mark every time, her uniform stayed spotless, her mind empty, even when she heard the pained screams and curses of her own. The world only returning to her, whatever was going on in it, when the last of the Drachmans fell, her men watching, seemingly realizing her only then.

The storm having picked up considerably in this short time.

She pulled her faceguard down a bit, made herself recognisable by more than her lack of height, moved to those wounded. One of the men had already pulled the fold-up-stretcher from his back, the lieutenant in question put onto it, the man bleeding from a hefty wound on his chest. Another got his arm bound with a strip of cloth, the bullet-wound bleeding, but not too dangerous.

Busied herself with thinking quickly, send a group of men towards the Wall, to open the gates and alert the infirmary. Lifted the stretcher together with the others, one of the men taking the front, lookout and guide in one. The snow made it hard to see through, their way found more through experience than actually finding it with their own eyes.

The flurry and wind at their backs, pushing them forwards, the icy snow pulling at their feet telling them to stay put.

And when they arrived at the wall, her mind still reeling from the emptiness from before, men were already working to get the snow out of the way from both sides, blown against and accumulated at the door. Lifted the stretcher together with the others, hands waiting in the gap between snow and the top of the door, taking the wounded man from them, getting him to safety.

Busied herself with getting the snow out of the way then, the unsavoury sensation of sweating inside of your uniform, while the world around you tried to freeze you, taking over. The hole soon big enough, all of them slipping through, hit by a wall of warmth. Stomping with their boots to get rid of some of the snow, while the level-crew closed the door and bolted it shut.

Face-guards and hoods removed, she had her men recount status to her, the report already half-written in her head.

Miles was at her back quickly, told her of what he'd seen from the top of the wall, until he ordered the men to step inside, the winds this far up too strong. Relayed to her that the storm warning radioed to them from North City was incomplete, the line breaking off during their call because of the weather. Heard and registered that they were well stocked to be snowed in, that their enemy could not attack in these conditions anyways.

Was the only one in the changing room when getting rid of the uniform, taken aback by her own face in the mirror, face-guard and hood removed, but the snow-blindness-googles, the tightly plaited hair, so unfamiliar to her. Got into her uniform, her overcoat, warm and cosy. Was ready to bet a lot of money on Buccaneer having gone in here, having found it hanging over the heater to soak up the emitted warmth.

Sat down for a few minutes, untangled the braid, took off the glasses after a big-enough amount of time had passed and blinked against the harsh light. Let the tremors take over her hands and body for a few moments, the screaming in her mind.

She'd been trained to be a killer when she entered the military, had been an assassin for a long time, death on legs. But it was still sometimes troubling, when something like this called for the worst of her skills, forced her to kill. Not upfront or open, giving the enemy a chance to fight, but with the outcome already clear, before she'd done so much as take her dagger out of its sheath. Her mind suddenly forced into an old and empty way of thinking, her body taking over.

Hated it with all her heart, the power it had over her.

Got up with a start and left the room, making her rounds.

She had soldiers to visit in the infirmary, a report to write and a Fort to secure against the coming storm.

* * *

He was not sure if night had already fallen, if it hadn’t been for the clocks littering the Fort, because the storm was big enough to leave them in a constant kind of dark.

But at the same time, there were no windows at the wall, only four bulls-eyes, all of them in the direction facing North City. Darkness was a constant here, the light artificial, clocks telling you what time it was and little else. And so, he knew when to go to her rooms, midnight a thing long past, the day of an attack always long and tedious.

She'd killed today, in that way he knew she hated.

He'd been conditioned too in his youth, for his heritage, his believes and knew how it felt when those things ingrained into you showed themselves. And though he'd not been conditioned to kill, to be an unfeeling assassin for the state, he felt with her. Not pity, or sadness, but the knowledge that your training sometimes took over, the things they told you suddenly seeming believable again.

Remembered the struggle it had been for her to get out of the mindset that she was unfeeling, mind- and loveless. To help her learn that she was more than a killer, a solider, death. That she still could be just what she wanted, just as he.

Opened the door, stepped inside, the sound of the blow-drier coming from her bathroom familiar.

Slipped out of his uniform, into slacks and a shirt, put water on the heater for tea. Restocked the fire, searched for a second blanket and made the bed. Found the stash of tea after a bit of searching, prepared her favourite blend, even found a bit of chocolate while he was at it. Thought himself to be ready when she stepped out of the bathroom, redressed in her thermo-pyjamas too, and realized he wasn't.

The rings under her eyes deep, her stare blank, forlorn.

"You look like you could use a hug."

Words tumbling from his mouth, a few years ago maybe met with a scoff and disdain, now only pulling her gaze like a string, a sense of longing in her eyes. Stepped up to him, head leaning against his chest, his arms needing no invitation, no prompting, to wind around her.

He held her tight, just breathed with her for a long while, until her felt her arms press against his chest, giving her room to move. The colour having returned to her resurfacing face, though there was still exhaustion written all over it. But light in her eyes again, the warmth he'd come to love and cherish. Took her hand and pulled her to the water bubbling on the hearth.

"I made tea!"

A small smile his reward, making his heart swell.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite you to leave:
> 
> _Short comments_   
>  _Long comments_   
>  _Questions_   
>  _Constructive criticism_   
>  _Reader-reader interaction_
> 
> I reply to every comment, though it sometimes takes me a day, or two.
> 
> I thank you for reading this fic of mine through to the end. I appreciate all comments and kudos and should you want to get into direct contact with me [this is my tumblr](http://illidria.tumblr.com/)


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